The Pickup Artist
Sunday, May 4 2008

Oh my God, let me begin by saying that I just got back from a nightmarish commute home from the bar. I left Hynes at about 12:15 AM and immediately got a Red Line train to Alewife at Park Street.

Between Harvard and Porter, the train just stopped for 15 minutes. Just stopped. As I listened to song after song on my iPod, I watched everyone get aggravated, especially since the sound system wasn’t great and we couldn’t decipher any of the announcements.

After that, the train spent several minutes lurching a few inches, then stopping, then lurching a few inches, then stopping. It felt like we were trying to get over bumps.

They let us off at Porter, telling us that all trains were out of service. This was one stop away from where I needed to be!

I knew getting a cab would be nearly impossible during this time of night, even on Mass. Ave., so I waited for a bus. (This is major for me, considering that I have NEVER taken a bus in Boston that wasn’t a temporary shuttle.) A bus never came.

I hopped into a cab with two other people trying to get to Alewife and I just had the driver drop me off on the corner of my street and Mass. Ave., walking the rest of the way back. The other passengers were amused when I pointed out where I had seen Owen Wilson earlier today.

But I digress.

I met the WORST PICKUP ARTIST OF MY LIFE tonight.

I went to Match in the Back Bay with Esther, Lauren and Laura. The place has a nice atmosphere, though the martinis aren’t strong at all (I had two and I didn’t even feel a buzz) and the prices are a bit high. They could also stand to spend extra money on the bathrooms.

The bar was really crowded, so I went to get a drink on my own first. I squeezed in next to a guy who looked like a young Sean Penn with black hair and a goatee.

Guy: “You are so beautiful.”

Me: “Thanks.”

Guy: “I love your eyes.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Guy: “I’m Michael. What’s your name?”

Me: “Lisa.” [Sorry, Lisa!! It was the first name I could think of!]

Guy: “I live right here. Where do you live?”

Me: “You live in this bar? Funny, I grew up here, but I now live at a watering hole down the street.”

Guy: “I love the shape of your face.” (Starts leaning over and brushes his goatee against my shoulder. He repeats this twice over the course of our conversation.)